


Antiphonic

by 4mpersand



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ...or maybe there will be some plot coming after all, Anal Play, Angst, Aural Kink, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Implied Johnlock, Masturbation, Other, PWP, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock/John (implied) - Freeform, spoilers for Sherlock S3E1, spoilers for Sherlock S3E2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4mpersand/pseuds/4mpersand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, for once, comes when he's called.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antiphonic

Sherlock’s mobile began to ring just before he flopped onto the sofa. John, then.

Sherlock slid a thumb across the screen and set the call to speaker.

“John."

A bit of rustling fabric and a loud thunk - a belt buckle, Sherlock noted - came across the line, followed by a mostly suppressed masculine giggle. _Odd._

“ _Oh_. You’re very good, but do you think that will really work on me today?” John delayed to do what sounded like shuffle out of his trousers. “No, now you’re definitely going to get it.”

"John," Sherlock repeated, "what do you want? You clearly weren't interested in dinn-"

"Don't," John growled from low in his belly, voice rife with restrained strength even over the tinny speaker. "Don't. Say. Another. Word."

Sherlock paused, curious. He dialled the volume up slightly to make up for John’s distance from the receiver and placed his mobile onto the coffee table.

"You were all I could think of when we were chasing that bloody jewel thief this afternoon. It was imagining your neck under my tongue in the cab, the sensation of your teeth on my skin that clouded my judgement at the scene. My fists pulling your hair and your fingertips bruising my hips that halted the post-mortem at Bart’s." John's voice went gravelly with the recollection. 

"Wherever I went you took over more of my senses, and as the day went on it became all-encompassing. All I could see at the Yard was my hand pinning your wrists to the headboard as I licked down your chest." He suspired. “The sight of your spine arching off the bed as I fingered you open nearly got me locked in the elevator. Then it was the burn my stubble left on your inner thighs as they tensed around my face when we finally arrived at Lestrade's new office."

Sherlock stilled, eyes wide, and resisted the urge to palm his rapidly growing erection.

“I had to fill out fucking paperwork for over an hour in front of the DCI when all I could think of was being deep inside you. Taking you apart, piece by piece, from the inside out. Do you know how hard it is to give a statement when all I can taste is your skin; when all I can feel is your heat running down my chin?”

John stopped.

Sherlock stopped breathing.

“I want you to touch yourself for me. Show me how much you want it; how much I affect you.”

Sherlock hesitated.

“This is about you, not me. Do it.” John paused for emphasis. “If you do, I promise I’ll give you the fuck of a lifetime tomorrow. You won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”

Sherlock slipped his dressing gown out of the way and palmed his cock through his pyjama bottoms.

“Mmph.”

“That’s it,” John encouraged, “now give me more.”

In for a penny, Sherlock shucked his bottoms in one smooth motion and scooted further up the sofa. 

“Spread your legs for me. I crave you. I can’t wait to see every inch of you.”

Sherlock pointed a knee towards the fireplace and slid his foot to the floor.

“Better. Now tease yourself. All above the waist, mind. Scratch your scalp. Pull your hair. Drag your nails down your neck and across your chest. Press into your skin with your fingertips. Hard. Imagine it is me touching you. I want you to pull. I want it to hurt. I want you to feel it burn tomorrow so that you can remember what we did.”

Sherlock’s fingers raked over his scalp and through his curls before digging grooves into his neck. As he dragged his splayed hands over his torso a bead of pre-come began to emerge from his glans.

“Imagine me sliding in behind you, licking and sucking and biting my way down your neck and across your shoulders. I want to cover your hands in mine and tease you while I grind into you, and make you watch yourself become more and more desperate for my cock in your arse.”

Sherlock scratched the top of his chest hard enough to raise welts. 

“I want you to pinch and pull your nipples under my hands: roll them until they’re hard and squeeze until it hurts. Feel the pain radiating from your chest, and know that I did this to you.”

Sherlock breathed heavily, his chest and nipples singing with the pleasant cocktail of desire heightened with pain.

John’s voice dropped into another register. “I own you. Your body, your mind. _They are mine_.” 

Sherlock could almost feel him now, cocooning around his body like a vicegrip. The pearl of pre-come tipped over his foreskin and ran down his shaft.

“Glide our arms down now, and trace along the seams of your thighs. Use just our nails; I want it to tickle. For you to know that it isn’t enough. It won’t ever be enough, not without me.”

“Nngggh.”

“Slip our hands up, tenderly, and stroke your neck. Now squeeze. Cant your hips and feel the air moving over your opening. Doesn’t it make you feel so empty? Keep your legs wide - I need to see.”

“Slip one of our fingers into your mouth, now. And another. Suck them. Wrap your tongue around our knuckles and pull them in deeper. Make them good and wet.”

Sherlock moaned greedily around their fingers, spellbound by John’s voice.

“Drag a trail around your nipple - blow on it, so you feel a chill - and press our hand down your abdomen. Let us feel the tension in your muscles build as you realise what we’re doing next: I want us to ghost the tips of our fingers along your perineum and begin to prepare you for me.”

Sherlock’s nipple tightened almost painfully as he obeyed, his cock twitching as his rapidly cooling fingers made contact with the sensitive skin behind his balls.

“Press around your pucker. Imagine our fingers are my tongue, caressing you and licking you open. Relax the muscle and accept our fingertips. Slide our fingers back and forth over your delicate tissue, just slipping in ever so slightly before returning to circle around your warmth.”

Sherlock swirled their fingers across his arsehole, sensation building as his ignored cock strained towards their other hand still pressing across his windpipe.

“Push in. I want one of our fingers fully inside of you in three….two….one.”

Sherlock grunted against the sudden intrusion, his timbre so deep the sound emerged as a snarl.

A muffled squeak came over the speaker.

“Work our finger around you. Feel the intense warmth of your body. Experience your arse the way I do. Feel what I feel when you yield to me. Feel the way my fingers, my tongue - my cock - feel as they move inside you. The way they feel as I make you scream in pleasure.”

Sherlock bit back what threatened to be far more than a whimper.

“Slide our second finger in, and feel the way I can explore every inch of you from both sides. Curl our fingers forward. Deeper.”

Sherlock arched off of the sofa.

“Keep spreading. Use both of our fingers. I know you can handle it.”

 _Of course I can_ , Sherlock snarked, stroking. His foreskin was almost entirely retracted and lavish with pre-come.

“Fuck,” John panted, his voice breaking, “that’s gorgeous. Don’t stop. Take our other hand from your neck, and tease your slit now. Drag our fingers up and down. Make them wet. I want them to drip with your taste. Our fingers are my tongue - imagine me staring into your eyes as I press my tongue firmly along your slit. Teasing you, dragging it from bottom to top, again and again, before I finally start to suck.”

Sherlock’s eyes shone in the dark as he began to fist his aching cock.

“Our fingers are still moving inside of you, stretching and spreading and pushing and feeling your heat, when I start to drink you in. When I coat my face in you. You’re gushing already, and we’ve barely even started.”

“Hnnnnggg...”

“You’re so far gone now that you barely even notice when we slide another of our fingers into you, opening you further to prepare you for my cock. We’re nearly there.” 

Sherlock flashed white-hot with need and the sensation of John John John _John_. More. He needed _more_.

“How does it feel? Knowing that my cock constantly aches for you. That I can’t go through a day without thinking of you. Your taste. Your heat. That you’ve ruined me for anyone else in this world, and I couldn’t be happier for it. I need you, darling.”

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock whispered, erupting across his chest and painting streams of ejaculate over his swollen welts, darkened nipples, and dressing gown.

“Come for me, Mary. I love you so much.”

Sherlock froze as a muffled sob rang out over the speaker. 

He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment before slamming a fist over his mobile screen and into the coffee table. A pocket-dial. Of course.

_Mary._

John. 

Oh, John. 

_John didn’t know._

Sherlock disconnected the call, lit a cigarette, and headed for the roof.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the helpful beta-wrangling and ongoing encouragement from L and MRM I actually went through and posted this. Any leftover errors or niggly bits are completely my fault.


End file.
